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LENNOX

“ L et’s focus on the numbers for the Crawley Group,” I said, pacing the length of the conference room. My heels clicked against the hardwood floor, echoing in the otherwise quiet space.

A dozen eyes were on me as I gestured toward the projector screen, where our latest profit-and-loss statement was displayed. “We exceeded projections by six percent, but I want to aim for ten next quarter with this next group. What ideas do we have to push these numbers even higher?”

A hand shot up at the far end of the table. I nodded at Enid, one of my sharpest analysts. “We could explore diversifying our client portfolio,” she suggested. “Target smaller businesses in emerging markets instead of just focusing on the heavyweights.”

“Good,” I said, jotting it down in my notebook. “Let’s flesh that out in next week’s strategy session. Anyone else?”

The meeting carried on like clockwork—questions, suggestions, assignments. This was where I thrived, in my element, commanding the room with confidence and precision. But no matter how smoothly things went, I couldn’t ignore the nagging distraction creeping into my mind.

It had been just about a month since Omir.

A month since his kiss lingered on my lips, since his hands trailed across my skin, since I’d felt his godly dick.

I shook the thought off as the meeting wrapped up.

“That’s all for now. I expect to secure a new client by the end of the week. Let’s make it happen, people.”

As my team filed out of the room, I gathered my things, ready to retreat to my office. But before I could make it to the door, I heard a voice behind me.

“Great meeting, Lennox.”

I turned to see Adrian, the new junior associate who’d joined our firm a couple of weeks ago. He was handsome, in a polished, textbook kind of way—smart, tall, light skin, low cut. And apparently, he thought he had a chance with me.

“Thanks, Adrian,” I said, keeping my tone professional as I moved past him into the hall.

He fell into step beside me. “I was wondering if you had time to grab lunch today. I know this great little spot a few blocks away?—”

“I’m busy,” I said, cutting him off with a polite but firm smile. “Maybe another time.”

“You’ve been saying that all week,” he said, grinning like he thought persistence was charming.

I stopped walking and turned to face him. “And yet, you keep asking,” I said, arching an eyebrow.

He chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Can’t blame a brotha for trying.”

I didn’t bother responding, just offered him a curt nod before continuing down the hall. He was harmless, but he wasn’t what I wanted.

What I wanted was Omir.

I tried to push the thought away, but it was no use. His image was etched into my mind—the way he smiled, the way he touched me, the way he looked at me like I was the only woman in the world.

By the time I made it to my office, my pussy was throbbing intensely.

This wasn’t me. I was focused, disciplined, the kind of woman who didn’t get hung up on men.

He was the first. There I was, longing for a man I’d told myself I didn’t want.

My body ached with a need I hadn’t allowed myself to acknowledge fully until now.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed my phone and dialed Sherelle. “Hey, girl,” she answered on the second ring. “I’m in the middle of training a client, but what’s up?”

“Sorry. I didn’t even check the time,” I said, walking to my desk and dropping into my chair. “I need a favor.”

“Oh, this should be good. Hey, hun. Take five, okay? Now, back to you. What kind of favor?”

“Are you free tonight? I was thinking we could go to Omir’s club.”

Sherelle let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Girl, you don’t need me as your wing woman. If you want to see Omir, just go see him.”

“It’s not about that.” I protested, though my voice lacked conviction.

“Uh-huh. So you just happen to want to spend your night at his jazz club, listening to live music and possibly running into him?” she teased.

“Sherelle.”

“Lennox,” she said, mimicking my exasperated tone. “You’re not fooling me. Just admit you wanna see him.”

I bit my lip, staring at the papers scattered across my desk. “Fine. Maybe I do. But I don’t want to make it obvious.”

“Girl, it’s already obvious. You’ve been thinking about him since you left his house, haven’t you?

” I didn’t respond, which was all the answer she needed.

“Look,” Sherelle continued, her tone softening.

“You don’t need me there to hold your hand.

If you want to see him, go see him. Life’s too short to play these games with yourself. ”

I sighed. “You’re right.”

“I’m always right,” she said smugly. “Now go. And call me after.”

We hung up, and I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. Sherelle’s words echoed in my mind, and I realized she was right.

Enough overthinking.

I grabbed my purse and jacket, my heart racing as I made the abrupt decision to leave the office.

I didn’t even bother making excuses to my assistant or checking my calendar.

As I stepped outside into the midday sun, my body was buzzing with anticipation.

I wasn’t just going to Omir’s club. I was going to Omir.